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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629758">an idea is like a virus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonmoomba/pseuds/cartoonmoomba'>cartoonmoomba</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Gen, Shadowbringers Spoilers, so i watched Inception again recently and thought "what if"</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:36:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonmoomba/pseuds/cartoonmoomba</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. [an Inception-inspired AU]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an idea is like a virus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. When the Crystal Exarch led her to the audience chambers of this world’s Crystal Tower and let her know of this world’s perils, she had been ready to bear the burden. She had set out for the sands of Ahm Araeng in search of Alisaie only to be met by ungodly heat, more unbearable even than the deserts of Thanalan on summer’s midday, and a quick greeting by the girl before her figure disappeared into the wilds and an assurance that she had it under control. At first it had been pleasant, although surprising, to suddenly find herself with an excess of time on her hands before the next amaro transport would be by to take her away in search of Alphinaud. She wandered the stalls of Mord Souq, tasting the strange delicacies of the local tribe and taking in the sights of the crystallized emptiness to the south. She did not get a chance to bid farewell to Alisaie before her departure, though the girl’s friend, a kindly hyur woman, let her know she’d pass on the message. <em> Alisaie has been busy, </em> she told herself as the rolling sea of browns and golds blurred below her in the ascent of the amaro bearing her away. <em> It only makes sense that she would have duties she cannot be pulled away from, especially in a hard place like this </em>.</p>
<p>Kholusia looks enough like Vylbrand that it makes her queasy to see the state it’s in, especially once she spots windmills in the distance looking so much like her parents’ farm. The relief she feels upon seeing Alphinaud is nearly physical in its intensity, her soft spot for the boy she’s watched grow into a confident young man leading her to embrace him in sisterly affection. His body tenses under her touch and he pats her on the back, a touch awkwardly, before drawing away and laying out his master plan on how to infiltrate Eulmore. He talks with his hands, eyes on the glittering city in the distance, and soon enough the realization dawns upon her: he’s grown without her presence even further into his own. There is an assertiveness in him that had not been there before and a near dismissiveness she’s sure he does not mean, but it burrows under her skin anyway, leaving her feeling out of place at his side in a way that she has not in years.</p>
<p>Encountering Thancred and his young charge, the quiet girl named Minfilia, is uncomfortable to say the least. She knows he’s been here the longest of all the Scions, five years spent on his own adjusting to a new world and new dangers and politics that seems even harder to navigate than Ishgard’s had been. But the man has seemed to grow colder in his age, more abrupt rather than cunning and frustrated with everything--Minfilia defying him to find her, especially, and everything to do with the girl in general. She tells him he is being too harsh one night after he spends a good half a bell berating his silent charge over a misstep in battle she’d done, and Thancred levels her with a look she had not expected to see since Lahabrea’s possession.</p>
<p>“Don’t presume to know what it’s like for us, when you’ve only arrived now that our battles are nearly done.”</p>
<p>She does not speak to him much after that, for what could she say to dispute the truth of his words? The First seems to indeed be on its way to recovery due to no small part of what the Scions have been working towards all this time in her absence. She fights their battles, assures their victories; it is a relationship similar to the one she’d had with the group at the time of Ifrit, Titan and Garuda: she is their sword, and they wield her thus.</p>
<p>Staring up at the ever blinding skies, she misses Tataru. She misses Aymeric who had a cup of tea and a chat ready for her even amidst his busy work rebuilding Ishgard. She misses Lyse and the spars they’d have, the blonde boldly stating she needed time off to stretch her limbs. She had forgotten what it felt like to be an accessory and not part of the team.</p>
<p>The whimsical, near frightening colours and inhabitants of Il Mheg are not enough to thaw her relations with Urianger, who remains as unreachable as ever. Under the towering ancient boughs of Rak’tika she watches Y’Shtola hesitate to bid farewell to the family even she has now found for herself, lingering with one last gaze over Slitherbough as they depart. The other woman is politely friendly but the chasm suddenly between them yawns wide, and she watches Y’Shtola get smaller and smaller on the other side. She watches all the Scions disappear into the horizon away from her and feels small herself, an outsider to this group of people who’d found themselves perilously lost in a world not their own and built themselves a new life to survive.</p>
<p>Beside her, the Ascian wearing the body of the late Garlean emperor <em> tsks </em> . “So much for friendship, <em> hero </em>.” The two of them sit apart from the rest of their group, a fire burning low between them, and she tells herself the suspicious glances cast their way are for his sudden appearance at her side. “So what happens when you kill all the Wardens, then? Will you be set aside like a rusty blade?”</p>
<p>She ignores him and pokes a stick into the dying embers of the pit. Emet-Selch laughs at her silence, gaze so heavy on her she can feel it burning a brand into her skin.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>They return to Ahm Araeng and she speaks to the last remnants of her Minfilia. The sullen, quiet girl bearing her name and visage does not reappear at her side when she emerges. Urianger, when she finds the rest of the Scions, shakes his head when she asks about Thancred.</p>
<p>The less that is said about Ahm Araeng and the Warden there, the better.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>She listens silently when Y’Shtola and Urianger pull her aside and tell her what she already feels within: the light is consuming her alive. She has become the Warden of the First Reflection.</p>
<p>There is nothing to be done to save her. Nothing in the books of the Crystarium, in the abyss of Allagan research spanning the depths of the Tower, and even the Exarch shakes his head, lips downturned, when he is consulted.</p>
<p>At last, she is a dead woman walking.</p>
<p>She thinks that, all things considered, it has been a long time coming.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>The Light within her blurs together all senses and experiences, even memories; she remembers walking for what she knows is the last time through the Crystarium, entirely alone as she makes ready to depart. Bereft of weapons and gear she has the sensation of having flown somewhere, or perhaps she walked, but somehow she has found herself underwater in a city the likes of which she has never seen before. Or maybe it’s not entirely true; she thinks she’s dreamt of it before, or perhaps is dreaming now, walking streets as silent as a graveyard as she seeks out Emet-Selch and his offer of a dignified death.</p>
<p>Is she still breathing? Is she still living? She is not worthy of it. She feels the Light within her churning and hungry, straining against the threads of her soul and mortal shell holding it back. It’s only a matter of time before they snap and in a moment of sudden clarity she is overwhelmingly glad that the Scions are not present to see their vaunted Warrior of Light turn into a monster.</p>
<p>Blearily, she spots a figure before her. Unlike the others it does not move out of her way, but instead stands tall and stubborn in her path until she has no choice but to force her limbs around it. She hears a sigh, and then harsh fingers grip at her shoulder.</p>
<p>It is so unexpected and sudden that it grounds her. The corona of light that has been dimming her vision flares and she blinks, having no choice but to face the figure insisting on her attention. </p>
<p>“Really?” It speaks, a woman’s voice, drawling and mocking and in Common and not the strange language she’s been unable to make out from the other inhabitants. “This is how you’re going to die? Walking to certain death like a martyr, happy to let a villain take your life into his hands? You disappoint me, hero.”</p>
<p>She’s lost for words, no small part due to being directly addressed in such a manner in what feels like a very, very long time--since she had come to the First, perhaps. It clears the fog up in her brain somewhat, some flickering semblance of self sluggishly batting away at the Light cocooning her thoughts.</p>
<p>The tongue in her mouth feels heavy, marble-like. “I have no other choice.”</p>
<p>The figure’s hand, still gripping her skin as if she is not burning its flesh on contact, tightens. “No choice? Don’t make yourself even more pathetic than you already are.”</p>
<p>On habit alone she tilts her chin and purses her lips. Stubborn to the end, apparently. “So what, you have some better ideas on how to not die and consume all of the First? I’m all ears.”</p>
<p>The mouth under the hood smiles in a way she knows it does not mean it. “You really think he won’t destroy this Shard after your timely death? Is this all it took for you to lose your brain?” A laugh, somehow familiar, and she bristles further. The city around her sharpens in its clarity and her chest expands in a deep, angry breath ready to let the stranger have it--and then another hand comes down upon the stranger’s, prying it away.</p>
<p>Emet-Selch stands before them, grasping the stranger’s arm. “That’s enough out of you,” he directs at her hooded companion. There is a certain flatness to his tone, a bite in his words she has not heard even directed at her. In response the figure shakes her arm free and moves to entwine her fingers with his, smiling mockingly, until the man slaps her fingers away in disgust. “Leave us be. You have no place here.”</p>
<p>The woman lets out a dismissive laugh. “I have no place to be here? Steps away from where you murdered me, and where you are about to do so again? Your humour has me turning in my grave, Hades.”</p>
<p>She’s submerged in the heavy silence that descends. Enough time for a single breath, and then the woman turns towards her again. Pale hands reach up to draw back her hood--and something within her screams that the action is wrong, she should not be witness to any of this--and then to remove the delicate white mask that sits perched across her nose and cheeks. She throws it aside on the ground and stomps it for good measure, until motes of aether rise up as the mask simply dissolves on the paved street.</p>
<p>“Astra,” Emet-Selch says, barely constrained fury shaking his voice. “Get out.”</p>
<p>The woman’s lips turn into a pretty pout. “You can make me leave any time you want, Hades. You’re just not wanting it hard enough.” To her she sends a conspiratorial smile, as if they are old friends sharing a secret. “That’s always been the case with dear Hades, you know. Forever wanting things but never knowing how to go about getting them the right way.”</p>
<p>A streetlight down the road goes out. She suddenly realizes she does not even know the name of this place, hidden deep on the ocean floor. She wets her lips. The sense of wrongness inside of her grows. “Who are you?”</p>
<p>Astra raises an eyebrow at her, eyes wide. “We look so much alike, and still that is the question you ask? You just keep finding new ways to disappoint me.” To Emet-Selch, she shakes her head. “You broke her so thoroughly, dear. I’m very hurt.”</p>
<p>Somehow, she is still breathing. Still living. The Light within her writhes, but she wants to know more: the city standing tall and desolate around her, this man named Emet-Selch-and-also-Hades, and the woman Astra before her, with such pale hair and eyes yet still undoubtedly <em> her </em>. </p>
<p>“Why do you look like me?” The hints of a demand enter her tone. “What is this place?”</p>
<p>“You finally start asking the right questions!” The lights around them all begin flickering, but Astra’s excitement is palpable as she claps her hands together and grins at her, all teeth. “I’ll help you out with another one: how did you get here?” At her confused silence, her grin stretches until she can see the canines peeking out, like a mummer’s mask at a horror show. “Try to remember, now. How did you get here, to the bottom of the ocean, to this gloriously dead city of Amaurot?”</p>
<p>She opens her mouth to answer, to say she flew to the coast of--somewhere, or took a boat, or-- “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I don’t--I don’t remember.” She frowns. “How can I not remember? Is it the Light?”</p>
<p>A cold hand settles on her cheek, curiously soft and at odds with everything the woman has been so far. Pale eyes swim with pity as they stare into hers. “Sweetling, the only Light within you is the blessing you’ve been carrying all this time.”</p>
<p>With a furious sound the ground beneath them cracks. A cacophony of noise follows as around them the buildings begin to cave into themselves; trees erupt with their roots torn wild from their carefully curated placements and somewhere beyond her sight, she hears the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the bubble of air surrounding the city.</p>
<p>She’d nearly forgotten Emet-Selch’s presence. With a hiss he tears the woman away from her, clutching her wrist in his hand with strength that will leave her with far more than bruises. “You damned woman,” he seethes and his form begins to shift, as if he’s been hiding a monster of his own beneath his human shell this entire time. “If only you would stay out of my way--”</p>
<p>Her wrist must be broken, but Astra only laughs. The city around them continues its rapid collapse. “As if it’s my fault you can't bring yourself to kill me,” she says, and with barely a flicker of her other hand, drives a knife of aether straight into his heart. “Fascinating, considering you had no such qualms the first time.”</p>
<p>Ella watches the life leave the Ascian’s eyes, and has a moment to wander if it had been the way Lahabrea had fallen, too; did you not need to sunder the soul, to ensure an Ascian did not merely jump into another inhabitable body? But no--Emet-Selch sags to the ground and Astra uses a toe to poke his body with a sigh.</p>
<p>She turns her eyes towards Ella, the knife of concentrated aether still sparking with magic in the palm of one hand. “He remembered me very horribly, I’ll have you know. I didn’t have one unkind bone in my body. Not to mention this manner of speech. How self-obsessed can one man get, to make his once-lover sound so much like him?” She tuts and shakes her head. “Guilt does such funny things to memories we hold dear.”</p>
<p>She approaches closer. The strange city of Amaurot around them has fallen, a tremendous wave of water coalescing behind the woman’s form.</p>
<p>It will be upon them in seconds.</p>
<p>“It’s time to wake up,” Astra says. She’s close enough that the Warrior can count the very faint freckles upon her nose, as if this strange duplicate of hers had even that tiny detail down. “You’ll be very confused, and very alone, and the void between worlds will be a frightening place indeed. But rest assured that your friends are waiting for you on the other side, and that this has been nothing more than a very real, and very bad nightmare.”</p>
<p>The touch of aether is hot and electric against her neck. Astra’s smile is trembling. “Make sure you kill him for good for me, will you?”</p>
<p>There is no chance to reply. The knife cuts her open.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the first thing I've written in almost a year and I definitely feel rusty. I'm hiding behind the excuse that this is all a dream. Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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